Beauty in the Darkness
by peachpearls
Summary: Bella Swan lives her life in a cycle. Most of it is spent in rehab where she tries to handle her growing depression. Can newcomer Edward Cullen help find the real Bella and the beauty in the darkness?
1. Chapter 1

**Beauty in the Darkness.**

**A.N - this is my first fanfic for so go easy on me**

I lay awake on the hard mattress for the fourth time this week, or maybe it was more. The ceiling mocked me at its caged inheritance, keeping myself concealed in the dark room. I tried to move but my body refused to respond. I didn't tend to keep track of time. It was an unnecessary occurrence in the small world of my life. I didn't feel the need to keep a calendar or a clock, time passed by, no matter how much I observed it.

My life would continue, no matter how much I willed it to stop. It declined my pleas of ending but instead kept going, never ending. It wasn't a matter of surviving anymore, it was simply _existing_. That was me; I didn't live - I simply existed. The world would continue to work and move, while I stayed curled up in a tight ball everyday on this hard mattress.

People found me "interesting". They said it in a way that was supposed to be interpreted as a compliment but I was not naïve enough to not realize what they really meant. I was interesting as in, no one actually understands me so no one bothers to try with me. I was a blank figure, a silhouette, a bare canvas to the intruding eye, not someone that anyone would actually enjoy being around because they _didn't_ understand me; I was never going to let them in. I was not someone that conversation came easy to. In fact, I stopped trying.

I found no use in attempting to hold a steady conversation, a satisfactory nod would suffice. A cursory flicker of eyes would also be used, but never a word. I couldn't find enough emotion inside my fickle body to even smile, no mind utter a word. I found no reason to smile, my life was filled with death and sadness. It was bleak and demeaning; and I was used to it.

It worked on a cycle after that time. It happened, I would become depressed, I would begin to take drugs, I would take an overdose but somehow never managed to actually end it. Then, I would wake up in hospital where I would stay and recover for a week. I would have psychiatrists speak to me and then I would be thrown in this place. It was more than a prison than anything that could help me. I would pretend to get over my addiction, if you could even call it that. I could go without them, I just didn't want to. I hoped that one day, my plan would finally work and I would be welcomed through the golden gates and into my fate. Instead, I would go home, wait for the inevitable depression to begin and so the cycle would begin again.

So, lying in the darkness of the room, I could not find one thing that sparked any emotion inside me. I was drowsy, but I always was. To pass the time, I read and reread all the books I had formed in my collection and I would feel lost in the writing. That was one thing I supposed I enjoyed. It was the escape from reality I so desperately searched for. The nurses, helpers, whatever they were called, knew better than to disturb me while I was lost in my literature.

Before this happened, I had always wanted to teach literature, maybe one day write a book. Everyone has a dream, and that was mine. It was perhaps out of my reach and would never become mine, but it was what I wanted from life.

I twirled my tatted brown hair around my finger and stared at the ceiling. If only that ceiling would disappear and let me gaze at the beauty above. I hoped I would one day find the inspiration and the reason for living, but I still hadn't found it and perhaps I never would.

I scraped through each day like it was an uphill struggle. People took such luxuries as the ability to survive everyday with a smile on their faces, I was lucky to simply survive.

I scraped through my life, knowing that the cycle would continue to turn until finally, I found the escape.

Time passed slowly, aching every cell in my body until finally it was time to "wake up". I shook my head at the choice of words, I was awake hours beforehand everyday. There was a few other inhabitants living in this house of rehab, but none I took an instant liking to and no doubt the feeling was mutual.

I arrived at breakfast and waited casually at the table, alone as always, and took in the earnest mutterings of my surrounding crowds. I did this often, refused to speak but accepted the silent offerings of education. I learned many things by simply _listening_, a quality many could not handle.

From today's conversations, I soon realized someone new was going to join. This particular program lasted 3 months, including meals, beds, classes and lighter drugs. This new person was a guy, in his 20's who obviously had an addiction to hard drugs. I found this addiction quite pathetic, and in my own observation, ironic of me to judge. But still, people like him made me almost angry. He more than likely had everything I ever dreamed of, yet chose to ruin his already short, precious life on wasting himself on drugs that gave him small highs.

However, in a way, I was envious. He could take drugs just for the high, not for an exit to the lifelong depression I felt. He could inhale something to make himself feel good, not to try to overdose himself. At times like this, I often wondered who was the most pathetic but soon concluded that I had good reason for my life to be like this and I deserved every feeling of pain I received. It was a punishment I was forever made to pay.

Each member of the programme seemed scarily excited about the new member, for some reason I could not comprehend. They had not met him, so how did they know how great he was going to be or how "his eyes twinkled in the light" and yet I could not help myself in feeling slightly compelled to meet this man.

I scolded myself immediately.

I was not supposed to feel interest.

I was never meant to feel emotion building up inside me.

Bella Swan deserved being emotionless.

I would pay for eternity, but hopefully I wouldn't make it that long.

And hopefully, I would never have to meet the man who everyone craved, who everyone wanted to lay eyes on. I would not have to dislodge my interest immediately.

No matter how amazing he was destined to be, I did not want to feel interest in locking eyes with the infamous Edward Cullen.


	2. Jasper

I rolled over and groaned once again. Still here, still in this stupid room, in this stupid place, in this stupid life. It annoyed me that I woke up every morning in the same place. I had hoped, almost foolishly, that I would never wake up here again. But of course, I was so messed up that I would probably spend the rest of my life here. I sighed and unwillingly stepped from the bed.

I set myself a few tasks each morning, to fall into a familiar routine. I quickly changed into a pair of simple jeans and a black t-shirt - nothing out of the ordinary. I made sure that every piece of clothing hid the tops of my shoulders; I couldn't handle interfering eyes that would radar in on them. Pulling my hair into a messy ponytail, I busied myself by rolling the bed neatly back into order and opening the navy curtains.

I peered out into the wilderness outside my window. Trees and forests took up most of the horizon; the greenery shimmering in the early morning light. There was still clouds hiding the sun, as always, but to me, this place was beautiful. A few flowers lived precariously in random bushes and pots, and it amazed me that they stayed alive with the lack of sunlight, however I was sure that the daily amounts of water helped them along. Forks, Washington was known for the scarcity of sun and heat; the water and decreasing temperatures making the area not as popular as others. The green forests were less inviting than the brown, dead plants of hotter places in America. I, however, seemed to enjoy the simply tranquillity Forks held. I knew it could be boring to some, but I truly enjoyed gazing out of my window from time to time. It was like an alien planet, the remote colours and plants and it somehow comforted me to watch, know I wasn't the only alien around here.

A loud knock brought me rapidly out of my reverie. I spun around, my breathing coming out in short spurts.

"Bella? Can I come in?" a familiar voice enquired.

I, of course, never answered, instead optioning to timidly wander to my door. Hesitantly, I opened it an inch, glanced at the visitor, before opening it wider. I walked quickly away from the door, choosing to sit on my hard bed.

He walked in, flashing a quick smile in my direction before stopping in the middle of my minute room. He cleared his throat for a second before beginning his speech.

I took the time in which he hesitated to gaze at him. He was beautiful, in a strange way. His blonde, wavy hair sticking around his head, a small smile playing on his lips. Although that held nothing to his voice. A southern edge always invaded it, leaving many in the residence swooning - perhaps also to the amount of drugs they were ingesting.

"So, Bella. You remember our one-to-one counselling for today?" Jasper, Doctor Hale asked.

I nodded, staring at his face as he talked.

Many in the centre believed I had a crush on the man named Jasper. That assumption was misguided, of course. I felt no emotion to anyone. I just, I suppose, _trusted_ Jasper more than anyone else. He was easy to get along with, never pushed me too hard and always slowed down if he saw my discomfort. Our sessions were the only time I would utter a word or two. I trusted him. He was trying to help me, I knew that. Not for a promotion or recognition, but because he wanted to help _me_. I was grateful for that. I didn't know what he actually thought about me, but I was happy to have someone familiar that I could talk to.

"Good. It would perhaps be better if you ate breakfast first and then joined me in the therapy room. Is that okay?"

Again, I nodded, liking Jasper even more in that moment. The previous doctor I had liked me to have breakfast with her in the therapy room. I didn't truly know if it had anything to do with our sessions or if she was checking that I was _eating_. But either way, it left me embarrassed and uncomfortable. Jasper, however, allowed me to eat in privacy and then join him on my own terms. I didn't think he did this for anyone else, but I did not think it was case of simple favouritism. I think he was genuinely worried, and again, he wanted to help.

"Thank you. I'll be waiting in our room," he murmured before turning and leaving my room silently.

I sighed, not welcoming the realization of sharing my feelings once again.

I ate in silence and alone. I preferred it that way. The other residences all sat together in little "friendship groups" and were still babbling about the new addition to the ranks. Honestly, it was like high school all over again and I didn't like high school at all. I blocked out their over-exaggerated gushing and quickly finished my meal.

I hurried down the bright corridor without a second glance. The lemon walls burned my eyes, the brightness seeming too much today. I hadn't had much sleep again last night. The horrors of my vivid dreams were too much to handle.

I reached the clearly labelled therapy room within 5 minutes. I always got embarrassed at this point, a slight blush dancing across my pale cheeks. I didn't know whether to knock or just walk straight in. I stood in obvious indecision until I quickly tapped lightly on the wooden door. I heard a quiet "come in" and I complied without hesitation.

Jasper was sitting in a pair of simple black trousers and a white shirt but his face was bright and expectant. He gestured to the seat in front of him. I picked at the one bracelet around my wrist - a nervous habit - and then sat opposite him.

"Good morning, Bella," he greeted me, a file and pen in hand.

I cleared my throat, remembering that I would probably struggle speaking when it had been a few days since I had done so.

"Dr Hale."

He smiled tightly at me.

"Remember, you may call me Jasper in privacy, if that makes you more comfortable," he reminded me.

"I don't mind," I whispered, looking to the floor in embarrassment.

"Okay, well, shall we begin?"

I nodded and glanced up at him. He wrote something small down on his paper before his eyes came up to meet mine.

"How are you feeling today?" he asked with concern.

"Fine," I muttered.

He nodded but with a look of scepticism etched on his face.

"You look tired."

"I am," I replied, as if it was childishly obvious, what with the purple circles eternally painted under my eyes.

"I thought. Did you not get enough sleep, Bella?"

"No."

He nodded again, writing on his clipboard.

"And why is that?" he enquired.

"The same as usual," I muttered.

"The nightmares?"

"Yes."

I knew what was coming next. He would try to dig further, ask what they were about and ponder openly as if this was to why I constantly took overdoses. I wondered why he even tried. I would never tell him the real reason I do it. I would never tell anyone, ever.

"Yes. Would you like to talk about what happens in them?"

"No, I wouldn't" I answered.

"I could help. If these nightmares are a reflection of your life, to your _depression_" he talked as if it was a question. "then talking about it could help. I could help you," he murmured, staring right into my eyes.

For that one moment, I believed him. I believed that he could help me, that he could make it all go away. But he couldn't. I couldn't tell him anything because everything I would say would be written on a report. Then the world would know what sort of person I was.

I could handle my inner demons in my own way. But I could _not _handle what he was asking for me. I sucked on my bottom lip, ignoring the splashes of tears escaping my eyes, before shaking my head furiously at him.

"No, you can't help me. No one can," I whispered, watching as his face changed the moment I uttered it.


	3. Preparation

I hummed aimlessly as I stared in the over-sized mirror and fine-tuned my out of control hair. I was in desperate need of a haircut; the messy style I was observing now proved that statement. But for some strange and deluded reason, I couldn't bear to tear myself away from this dishevelled bronze mayhem. It was a kind of icon for me, it was my personal trait that made me, well me. I don't think my family had seen myself, Edward Cullen, with "neat" hair in quite some time. Since high school, this had been the hair that the girls drooled over and I supposed I was too stubborn and self-absorbed, you could say, to part with it.

I sighed loudly, chuckling to myself that I had spent almost five minutes thinking about my hair. But it was better than thinking about what was to come in little over five hours. It was for my own good, I knew that. My own reflection in the mirror was prime evidence of how this was for my own good. My once lively emerald eyes, were tired and worn, bloodshot to oblivion; and large purple-grey circles drooped below them. Light stubble inhabited my lower cheeks and chin, again, something I refused to part with although I knew that it was probably a good idea to.

My fingers shook slightly and I scolded them immediately. I wasn't quite sure if it was nervousness, or boredom, or withdrawal symptoms that forced them to shake, but I knew what I would usually do to stop it. I would usually get high. It sounded like such a typical young guy thing, the typical thing that elders would shake their heads at. I was throwing away my life for drugs; I knew how careless it was - well, the civilized side of my brain knew this. I couldn't describe why I wanted this lifestyle, the drugs, the parties, the alcohol - I just did.

At first, it was fine. It was the final year of high school and I was happy - as happy as any teenager would be without a significant other. I didn't expect to find true love or anything, just something nice. I had one or two friends, but wasn't particularly popular. My only past-time that I enjoyed was playing the piano and reading, and I was fine with that. Sometimes I craved the attention that my older brother, Emmett, received but, to be honest, I didn't know if I could deal with that sort of attention. Sure, I received a few flattering gazes - that was it, but even that embarrassed me. I'd much rather compose a new song than go out and get totally drunk.

That soon changed, though. I made the football team, along with some unwelcome friends. Lauren, Jess, James, Mike, Tanya and Victoria were not the best people to be friends with. They changed the person I was, and I hated them for it. Instead of playing piano, I listened to party dance shit. Instead of reading, I got so drunk I couldn't even remember my name. Instead of being at home with my loving family, I decided to get high and nurse my injuries the next day. I was hurting my family and not even caring. I thought that this was the kind of person people liked, but I was wrong.

I wanted to change back to who I was, not the person that someone like _Tanya _wanted me to be. I was 20 years old, nursing a heavy drug addiction and no college tuition. I tried to quit, truly I did, but I just wasn't strong enough and I hated to admit that. I was a vile person who couldn't stop taking disgusting chemicals to make me high and what made me worse was that I saw the toll it was taking on our family.

That was why I went to Carlisle. I knew, out of everyone, that my father would help me. I knew that Esme would try, but Carlisle was more qualified in this area. He was a doctor, a prestigious one at that and knew ways to help any patient. If he couldn't, he would research until he could. He was a good man, and more than likely, loved me far more than I deserved. He scoured the internet and his doctor friends to find the best rehabilitation centre for me and once he had found it, nearer than expected, he phoned up and arranged all the details - all I needed to do was pack.

I gazed around my crowded room, looking at the few bags of luggage I was to be taking on this three month course. I couldn't believe the day had arrived and I didn't know whether the date was a good thing or not. I knew I had to help myself but I also didn't want to go. No doubt there would be talks with councillors and such like, and I didn't really feel like sharing my story. And did they expect you to socialize when you were there? Or was it a lone thing?

I was getting frustrated by the thought of it, so decided to sit on my crème sofa and watch some non-troubling television. It helped - for about an hour. That was until my brain was took over by the things I was trying to avoid. Drugs, parties, sex - everything I had tried to avoid today of all days. I didn't want to think about it, especially the drugs. I wanted to conquer this stupid addiction. I wanted to make something of my life. I wanted to get a good job that I enjoyed. I wanted to have a family eventually and I knew I couldn't achieve any of this without losing this habit. So I was going to.

Even though my body was craving for the substances I had been cramming into my system, I chose to ignore it. It was much harder than I had expected it to be. Most people just think that all you have to do is simply "give up"; all I had to do was forget about it. I just had to drink herbal tea and have a smile always on my face, take things easy because it was just _that _easy.

Truthfully, it was nearly impossible. I could feel my veins, my blood demanding yet begging for it. My brain was whirling, trying desperately to break me. My tongue tingled with the thought of what it would taste like, what it would feel like on it. My nostrils wavered, as if searching for the forbidden powder. My heart drummed heavily against my frail chest and I could feel my pulse thumping in my ears. My breathing accelerated and my hands shook uncontrollably.

I knew where I could find it. There was some hidden, in the third drawer of my bedside cabinet in my room. Under my socks and underwear I could find one small bag of what I needed most - for emergencies. This was definitely an emergency. I could feel myself losing touch with my will power. My brain urged me to go to the drawer and I could feel my body responding to the taunts.

_What harm could it do now? Just one little bit._

I grunted and clenched my teeth together. A large migraine invaded into the unhealthy mix, leaving me cringing from the bright light of the sunlight filtering into the shaded room. I stumbled quickly to the large window, bringing the curtains closed in a flash. But it wasn't helping. My need for the drugs and the withdrawal symptoms were becoming too much; I knew it was only a matter of time before I gave up.

I staggered to the telephone, begging that the caller would pick up. I dialled the numbers in, simply from memory which I was surprised at seen as my brain didn't seem to be doing anything else correctly. I waited patiently as the annoying rings prodded heavily at my ears. I massaged my throbbing head, praying that this gesture would make it all go away.

"Hello!" a bright voice chirped louder than I expected.

"Alice," I mumbled uncertainly into the receiver.

"Edward? Is that you?" she inquired, her pitch rocketing down.

"Yes, Alice. I need your help," I whimpered.

"I'll be there in 5 minutes," she murmured before hanging up.

Under 5 minutes later, I heard a soft knocking on my apartment door. I swung it open, wincing at the unwelcome light. She charged in, wrapping her gentle arms around my weak form, slamming the door in the process. I felt the tears welling up in my stinging eyes at this simple gesture, and I hoped that it wouldn't overflow. She sensed that I needed a moment so she dragged me over to the sofa, never once letting go. I felt the shudders thunder through my unstable body, and I didn't attempt to muffle my loud sobs. She soothed me, in her perfect Alice way, playing softly with my bronze hair - whispering small words of encouragement and love.

I straightened up after my sobbing deceased, sniffing and wheezing at the unexpected emotional rollercoaster ;I stared carefully at her immobile face. My eyes flickered to the shoulder where my head had rested and I sighed. I wiped apologetically at the sodden purple cotton, never leaving her worried eyes.

"Do you want to tell me what's wrong, Edward?" she whispered.

I nodded at my sister, knowing I could trust her completely.

"I… I thought that I could stop. I thought that I could simply get over this myself. But I can't, Alice. I couldn't even wait 4 hours by myself. I needed it, I needed that high more than ever. I…I just need someone, right now," I mumbled, utterly ashamed at my weakness.

A small smile played at her lips.

"What are you smiling at, Alice?" I demanded, not finding any of this fucked up situation remotely funny.

"Edward, I'm just so proud of you," she announced.

I felt my face contort into confusion, I was mystified as to why she would be _proud _at my weakness.

"You resisted, Edward. It was so very hard, and you were close, unbearably close. But you never gave in, you rang someone you needed instead. You admitted you can't do this alone. Trust me, Edward. That is something to be proud of."

I smiled meekly.

She sighed as she twirled a stray strand of hair around her small finger. She grimaced at my hair and choice of attire but opted to keep her mouth shut - which I greatly appreciated. She gazed around the full room, her eyes finally resting on the bags packed neatly in the corner. The atmosphere had changed in the room and it took me some time to realize that she was waiting expectantly for me to talk.

"Alice, could you, maybe, wait with me until Carlisle comes for me. I could really use some time with my sister," I stammered.

I felt a salty bead of swear run down my neck, and I slowly realized that my terrible migraine had disappeared.

"Of course, Edward. I'm always here for you,"

And so we sat, talking aimlessly about her life that I had missed while I struggled with this addiction. I learnt that she had finally been accepted into the university of her choice, the perfect one for her fashion designing. She had made 10 friends already and had a huge birthday party 2 months ago to celebrate her 19th birthday, which left me reeling at the thought that I had forgotten my own sisters birthday.

"Edward? What's wrong?" she asked, worriedly.

I shook my head. "I've just missed so much Alice. I wasn't there, ever. I missed your birthday - I never even got you a card or even rang you. I missed when you got accepted into that university you've been dreaming of since you were thirteen years old. I missed Emmett finally meeting the girl of his dreams. I missed mom and dad's anniversary. And I don't want to miss them kind of things. I don't want to wake up one day and realized I've missed you're wedding or something. I mean, I haven't, have I?"

She threw herself at me, leaving me stunned, until I carefully wrapped my arms around her.

"No, you haven't. I haven't met my soul mate yet," she giggled. "But you won't miss anything else, Edward. I promise. We all love, you, _so_ much. We want you to get better. And you will."

"I hope so, I really do," I muttered into her dark, spiky hair.

The time went quickly, until I heard a car door slam and a familiar voice talking as he walked through my door. He grinned at me, picking up my bags and instructing me to follow him. With a quick hug to Alice, we followed Carlisle out of the door and to my future. To the place that would fix me and make me the person I wanted to be.

To the place where I would become the real, Edward Cullen.


End file.
